


Sweet Surprises

by Euterpein



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adam is Aziraphale's Adopted Son, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Human, Crowley is Warlock's Mum, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Flirting, Getting Together, Halloween, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Parenthood, Warlock Dowling Joins The Them, good parenting, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: Aziraphale, for reasons even she can't fathom, has volunteered to help out at the Halloween extravaganza being hosted at Adam's school. Things are going well until a certain red-haired solicitor and her son also get involved...Featuring unfortunate assumptions, secret plots, and an inordinate amount of pining.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 47
Collections: Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020





	Sweet Surprises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jamgrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/gifts).



> This fic was written for the Ineffable Wives server's 2020 exchange! I hope you love it, Jamgirl <3

Aziraphale tried to read the line from the recipe again, but the words only made her brow furrow further. “Combine in the bowl of an electric mixer,” she mumbled to herself, “But what do I do if I don’t _have_ an electric mixer?”

“Buy one?” Adam suggested. 

She levelled him with her best unimpressed look, but was met only by an unrepentant grin. “I hardly think that’s a helpful suggestion at half-past nine on a Friday evening, my dear.”

“I dunno,” Adam said, turning back to the notebook in which he had been writing out his latest adventure novel in his horrifically untidy scrawl, “Seems like you could prob’ly find a shop open this late. I mean, it’s London.”

“Well, that’s--a rather good point, actually. Perhaps I should say, I’d _rather not_ go gallivanting around London in search of an electric mixer right now. If nothing else, the butter will get too warm.”

Adam just shrugged. “Dunno then, aunty. Can you mix it by hand?”

Aziraphale looked back at the recipe. “It says ‘mix until creamed,’ whatever that means. It’s only warm butter, sugar, and vanilla, though. What could go wrong?”

Adam’s expression veered slightly closer to the sceptical than she might have liked, but Aziraphale ignored him and bustled around in the cabinets of their tiny kitchen to find the mixing bowls she likely hadn’t used since the early nineties. She found a set tucked behind a julienne slicer that had never been touched and pulled them out, washing them free of dust before beginning to pile ingredients in according to their measurements.

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Adam said, watching her putter about. “You never bake. Or cook, for that matter.”

“I cook!” Aziraphale looked mildly affronted as she took an (overly) eager wooden spoon to the butter and sugar in the bowl, causing a fine powdery spray to leap over the side onto the floor. “Oh, blast. I made eggs and sausages for us just this past Sunday.” 

“That was two Sundays ago, aunty.”

Aziraphale stopped. “Was it? Oh dear, I suppose you’re right. My point is still proved though, I cook _sometimes_.” 

Adam looked entirely unimpressed. Aziraphale sighed, propping the mixing bowl upon her hip as she continued to mix the butter and sugar together. “Alright, _fine_. If you must know, it’s because Warlock’s mum will be there.”

That got her a confused look. “Warlock’s mum? Antonia? Why, d’you not like her?”

“It’s not that I don’t _like_ her,” Aziraphale insisted. As a general rule, she never expressed to Adam that she disliked anyone, because disliking people would be unbecoming for individuals of scrupulous morals. There were a few exceptions to that rule of course, some heavy lines drawn around morality and polite behaviour, but for the most part she tried to impress upon the boy that _anyone_ could be likeable if only you gave them the opportunity to be their best self.

That didn’t mean she necessarily _believed_ such a thing, of course. 

“I don’t _dislike_ her, but we have a bit of a...a history, I suppose you could say.”

Adam frowned. “What, were you two friends or something before, and then she didn’t want to be friends because you accidentally took her Bionocle home in your backpack?”

“No, my dear, this was nothing so dramatic as the Great Bionocle Fiasco between you and Pepper. I barely even _know_ her, if you must know.” The batter in her hands was starting to look distinctly creamy, so she stopped beating it with the spoon and moved back over to peer at the recipe.

“If you don’t know her, how can you not like her?”

“Again, I certainly don’t _dis_ like her. She just, well...she’s so _fashionable_ , isn’t she? So _flash_. We met the year you and Warlock started school together, so it would have been...what, five years ago now? Six? And she just seemed to...I don’t know, _look down at me_. Peer at me through those silly sunglasses she wears all the time.”

Adam still looked somewhat less than enlightened. “Did she...say something, though? Or did she just use her eyes for doin’ normal human eye stuff?”

“No, she didn’t say anything untoward or anything like that. It was only a _feeling_.” And the fact that she had looked too bloody gorgeous while giving Aziraphale said feeling had absolutely nothing to do with it, of course. 

“I think you’re being a bit ridiculous, aunty.”

Aziraphale most certainly did _not_ pout at that. Her lips pulled together in what some _might_ have described as a pout, but most certainly _was not one_. “I am _not_ being ridiculous. Sometimes you can meet someone and just know they’re a bad sort, that’s all. You know they’re someone you just don’t want to hang about with.” 

“Right,” Adam said, shaking his head at her. “So you’re baking pumpkin bread rather than buying biscuits or something because...?”

“It’s a perfectly _seasonally and socially appropriate_ thing to bring to a Halloween party planning meeting, my dear. The fact that Antonia Crowley will be there to see that I’m a _capable_ and _talented_ guardian so she can quit looking down her nose at me is merely icing on the...well, on the pumpkin bread.”

That mop of brown curls shook again. “Ridiculous.”

\--------------------

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this.” 

Antonia scowled as Warlock watched her work from the counter, chin propped up on his elbow and expression bemused. “Since when do you question my decision to bake things? I’m allowed to have hobbies.” She clicked off her electric mixer and pulled out the bowl, eyeing the merengue inside to try and judge whether the peaks had the correct lift to them.

“Since I told you Adam’s aunty was going to be at the thing tomorrow and all of the sudden you needed to make _macarons_ in the _middle of the night_.”

“It’s not even ten!”

“You’re making _five different colours_ , mum. You’ll be at it all night and you know it.”

Antonia’s scowl deepened. “Don’t you have some homework or something to do?”

“Did it already. It was only some sums and a bit of spelling, I finished most of it off in class.”

Antonia just grunted, her continued annoyance warring with motherly pride at her sons’ capabilities. 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t ask one.” 

Warlock sighed, something he often did when he was speaking to his mother. It sometimes made her wonder which of them was actually the adult in their relationship, though she would never have said so aloud. “What is it about Adam’s aunty being there that made you want to stay up all night baking?” His expression curled into a grin. “Do you fancy her?”

“Do I--what--I don’t _fancy her_ ,” Antonia sputtered, nearly splattering almond flour all down her front as she turned to glare at him.

“Oh my god, you _do_!” Warlock crowed, his face lighting up.

Antonia growled in frustration. “I don’t even _know_ her! We’ve only met a handful of times, and she’s always avoided me.”

That made Warlock stop laughing, at least. “She avoids you? Why?”

“I don’t know.” Antonia moved her spatula through the mixture, wishing it was something she could really _beat_ rather than something that required careful folding. “The first time we met I was a bit of mess around her, I think.”

“Cause you fancied her,” Warlock said, matter-of-factly.

“Because I was--I didn’t know what to _say_.”

“Uh-huh.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Antonia sniffed and moved on, “I think she might have got the idea I was boring or--or socially awkward, I think. I never seem to be able to get her to come near me at these things since then.”

“So you decided to make her five different colours of macaron to woo her into your arms?”

_Yes,_ she thought.

“Absolutely _not_ ,” she said. “It’s just an...an olive branch. Get her to give me a second chance, sort of thing. You’re not the only one who’s allowed to want friends, you know.”

“I know, mum.” Warlock looked thoughtful for a moment. “You know it would be okay, though, right? If you did fancy her?”

That caused Antonia to stop in her mixing, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Just that, I mean, it’s okay if you wanted to...see someone. Like that. You don’t have to stay single for me.”

“I’m not staying single for you,” Antonia grumbled, but she was pretty sure the flush in her cheeks gave away much more than she would have liked. “I’m staying single cause I have a kid and a full-time job and a flat to mind.”

His eyes told her that he saw right through the half-truth, but he was kind enough not to say anything.

“Well, just so you know. It _would_ be alright. Assuming your macaron plot doesn’t go horribly wrong, that is.” He gave her one last smile and slipped off his stool at the counter to go wander back through the flat to his room, leaving her alone with her thought.

“Bugger,” she said, eloquently, and turned back to her baking.

\--------------------

“We’re not going to be late, aunty,” Adam argued, watching Aziraphale swan around the entryway to the shop in something like a panic. “It’s not even half five yet.”

“But the tube’s always a _nightmare_ this time of the day,” Aziraphale said, rummaging around in her pockets in a vain attempt to locate her keys.

Adam rolled his eyes. “We have an hour to go a couple of stops, aunty. I really think we’ll be fine.”

Aziraphale tried to calm herself down. She knew, in a somewhat detached sort of manner, that it wasn’t really the commute that was making her nervous. This sort of function had never been her particular cup of tea. She’d never been good with groups of people, never been comfortable in them. There was always a fear she couldn’t quite shake about being judged by strangers and acquaintances. Since she’d taken Adam in things had only gotten worse. Her anxieties around being a suitable parental figure were already enough trouble to her in the privacy of her own head, and being around parents who had raised their children from birth always made her feel...inadequate.

An image of Antonia Crowley’s face swam before her eyes, peering down at her from behind those silly sunglasses, and she grimaced.

“You’re right, dear boy, I do apologize. Just me being silly again, I’m afraid.”

Adam’s face softened. “It’s alright, aunty. Look, can I do anything? I can carry the pumpkin bread if it’s helpful.”

“Would you?” she asked, not really needing the help but always happy to encourage that natural thoughtfulness of his. “That would be lovely. Here.” 

Adam took the cling film-wrapped loaf with a look of utter concentration on his face, careful not to drop it.

“Alright, my dear,” Aziraphale said, finally locating her keys in the pocket of her coat, “I believe that’s all. Let’s get this over with.”

They made their way out into the crisp autumn evening. Greek street was indeed packed at this time of the day, as was the tube station, but they managed to get on the central line and over to Hammersmith with very little in the way of delays. Adam looked about as happy as he ever did. He always loved it when Aziraphale could be put upon to leave the bookshop because it always meant _adventure_ , even if today’s said adventure would consist of most of the same children he knew from school anyways. Aziraphale was less at ease. She knew and liked most of the parents that were going to be there, yet she couldn’t quite help the way her foot tapped restlessly against the plastic of the train’s floor as it rattled its way along.

It was Pepper’s father that opened the door. He was a kind-looking man that was perhaps a few years Aziraphale’s junior, and he smiled widely when he saw them despite them showing up nearly twenty minutes before the arranged time. “Miss Fell! Adam! Welcome, welcome, please come in. Pepper’s just off playing somewhere...” 

They were shown into the cheery little kitchen, where Pepper’s mother was laying out various fruits and vegetables on a plate around what looked like hummus. Adam immediately vanished into the aether as children in the house of a friend were often wont to do, which gave Aziraphale and Pepper’s mother something to chuckle over. Their early arrival turned out to be a blessing. After seeing to the pumpkin bread, she was able to chat with Pepper’s parents while the rest of the party trickled in. It was much easier to deal with people if she could face them one or two at a time rather than all at once. This plan was slightly marred by the fact that every time the doorbell rang she was struck with a pang of alarm that it would be Antonia and Warlock Crowley walking through the door. Still, it gave her a chance to catch up with Brian and Wensleydale’s parents, and the few others that trickled in, before the actual planning part of the evening could get started.

At exactly 6:31, the doorbell rang again. Pepper’s father bustled out to answer it, and when he came back he brought with him the one person Aziraphale had most feared seeing. 

Antonia Crowley was a severe-looking woman. She was tall, and made taller by the heels she wore, easily towering over Pepper’s father. Her clothes were black and as sharp as a razor, suitable for her work as a solicitor but quite out of place in this comfortably eclectic sitting room. The ever-present sunglasses she wore hid her eyes. Despite them, though, Aziraphale had the distinct impression that the woman’s attention was drawn directly to herself.

Something like a scowl twitched at Antonia’s immaculately painted and blood-red lips. Aziraphale struggled against the urge to scowl back. “I brought macarons,” Antonia said, carefully placing the plate she’d been carrying down on the coffee table and freeing it from its foil wrapping. There was a general gasp as she did so. The plate held macarons in five colours ranging from pale pink to orange to blue, and each and every last one of them was _perfect_. 

Aziraphale’s urge to scowl deepened. She _loved_ macarons. These were very obviously hand-made, too, and made Aziraphale’s pumpkin bread look rather like a sad lump on its little plate. She felt Antonia’s attention on her and forced out a smile, taking a macaron out of politeness (and because they did look rather scrummy. She only had so much self-control) when it was offered to her. She tried not to enjoy the taste of it on the sheer principle of the thing, but didn’t quite manage it in the end. It _was_ rather good.

Once they had all settled in, Wensleydale’s mother called them all to order. She was a thin, reedy sort of woman, quite kind if a little distractible, and dove into the discussion of logistics with a gusto Aziraphale found slightly alarming. 

They had all volunteered to help run a halloween fair at the childrens’ school, a decision which Aziraphale was already questioning herself over. Adam had come home from school with a flyer and those big, brown, pleading eyes of his and she had crumbled like a deck of cards. Halloween was his favourite holiday. It had never been much of an affair for her before she’d become his guardian, and she hadn’t really cottoned onto how much he loved the holiday until a year or two ago. She still felt guilty about the missed opportunities from those early years. 

Still, this all seemed a bit much. They munched on goodies and discussed budget planning. Wensleydale’s mum seemed happy to do most of the actual work, though most of the rest of them were able to contribute something at the very least. Aziraphale could grudgingly admit that Antionia’s idea about the “haunted cake walk” was particularly inspired. For herself, she added in the occasional comment or tidbit but found she didn’t have all that much to contribute to the conversation. She didn’t have much experience with running an event like this, and even less experience with children under the age of seven or over the age of about thirteen, of which there would be plenty. The planning mostly went over and around her.

Then, it came time for divvying up the individual duties. Pepper’s parents volunteered to take on the events for the younger children, Brian’s parents for the older. Wensleydale’s parents would be doing the music, volunteer coordination, and general chaperoning. Which left Antonia and Aziraphale.

“I could run the general ages stuff, I suppose,” Antonia supplied. “You know, above a ball pit, below a haunted house. An’ I could make the cakes for the cake walk.”

Wensleydale’s mum’s lips pursed. “That’s a lot to put on just you. Aziraphale, perhaps you could help her out?”

“Me?” Aziraphale echoed, heart sinking, “Oh, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’m not even really a baker...” 

“You made the pumpkin bread,” Pepper’s mom pointed out. 

“Er y-yes, I did at that, but...” She glanced over at Antonia, hoping she’d talk some kind of sense into them. 

Antonia just smiled, in that slight way she did. “I’d love your help. We could plan a get-together next week to iron out the details?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale swallowed. “Yes, of course. I’m sure the boys would like that.” 

And with that, her fate was sealed. She tried not to show her discomfort as they wrapped up the discussions, tried not to glance over to Antonia throughout, but she was rather sure she didn’t manage all that well. What _was_ the woman thinking of? She’d made it pretty clear in the past she didn’t much want to spend time with Aziraphale.

Then again, nothing she’d ever done had been overtly rude. Perhaps she was just swallowing her distaste in the name of politeness. In which case, Aziraphale would have to just tough it out and do the same. 

When it was time to go, Antonia gave Aziraphale a sleek black business card with her name printed in neat letters, and instructions to text her to set up their meeting. Aziraphale blinked at it for a few moments before she stowed it away. “Er,” she said, somewhat flustered to actually be speaking to the woman directly, “I don’t actually have a mobile, but I can give you a ring tomorrow if that works?”

To her surprise, Antonia’s lips curled into something that looked more like an actual smile than a smirk. “That should do just fine. Talk to you then, eh, Miss Fell?”

“Just Aziraphale,” she responded, before she could catch herself. “That is--you can call me that. My name. That’s quite alright.” She clamped her mouth shut before she could babble herself further into a hole.

“Aziraphale,” Antonia repeated, low and soft. “Alright then. I’ll be looking forward to hearing from you then, Aziraphale.”

“Yes. You as well, er...” Aziraphale wasn’t sure if she was grateful or disappointed that Adam and Warlock appeared at that moment to interrupt them. 

\--------------------

“Adam! Hey, Adam!”

Adam turned around, trying to figure out who was shouting for him, and saw Warlock jogging over to him from across the playground. This wasn’t a terribly unusual occurrence. While Warlock still hadn’t yet cemented his place among the Them, they had all been playing together much more over the last school year. Warlock had a strong personality and almost as many ideas for games to play as Adam did, which sometimes made Adam feel a little put out, but the fact that he was always happy to play along with whatever Adam was scheming up helped a lot.

“Hey Warlock. We were about to go play ‘witches and witchfinders.’ You want to come?”

Warlock looked excited for a moment, then seemed to refocus. “Yeah, I would! But, could I talk to you first? Just you?”

Adam frowned. “What d’you have to say that you can’t say in front of all of us?”

“Yeah, Warlock,” Pepper said, sharp eyes looking over him inquisitively. “You’re not keeping secrets from us, are you?”

“It’s not a _secret_ , not really. It’s...it’s about our mums,” Warlock managed, shifting uncomfortably.

Adam’s eyes widened. He thought for a moment, then turned to the rest of the Them. “Go and play without me for a bit, yeah?” They pouted, but trotted off to the far corner of the schoolyard after a moment as he’d known they would. He turned back to Warlock. “What about our mums?”

“This might be a weird question,” Warlock started, chewing on his bottom lip a bit as if he were nervous, “but does your aunty...does she fancy women?”

Adam blinked. That hadn’t been at all what he’d been expecting. “Er, I think she might? We’ve never really talked about it, but I know she’s never had a husband or anythin’ like that.”

“Hmm.” Warlock frowned. “So not sure, then.”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

Warlock looked surprised. “Wrong? No, not really. It’s just...my mum. She hasn’t really dated since my dad--well, she’s never dated since I’ve been around to notice at least.”

“And...she fancies women?” Adam prompted, still not sure where this conversation was going exactly. 

Warlock nodded. “She likes everyone. ‘Pansexual’ was the word she used, I think. But I think _right now_ what she fancies is your aunty.”

“What, really? My aunty thinks your mum doesn’t like her!”

It was Warlock’s turn to blink. “Doesn’t _like_ her? She practically drops whatever’s in her hands if I even _mention_ her.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Then, slowly, twin grins of pure mischief spread over their faces.

“I think we should go talk to the rest of the Them,” Adam said, after a few moments. “We’ve got a plan to come up with.”

\--------------------

Aziraphale had never done so much dusting in her _life_.

She’d been at it the better part of the day. The shop had remained resolutely closed for the sole purpose of giving her time to scrub it from bottom to top, all the way into her and Adam’s little flat above. She shelved books that had been allowed to gather in dangerously teetering piles, cleared away endless empty teacups and scraps of paper that had been left about the place, even going so far as to take the carpets outside for a good beating. She took a damp flannel to every surface she could reach, trying to clear the accumulated dust of years.

Even she was not entirely sure why she was so adamant about making sure the shop was clean for Antonia and Warlock’s visit. A day or two ago she might have claimed that it was to prove to the woman that she was a fit guardian and not deserving of Antonia’s derisive looks. Now, though...

Once she had actually _spoken_ to the woman, Antonia had been much different than she had been expecting. Her voice had been low and warm, smooth as honey, and her words had been much kinder than her rather severe aesthetic would have suggested. Not to mention the fact that her smile had been the most beautiful thing Aziraphale had seen a long while. The whole thing had thrown Aziraphale for quite a loop. She wasn’t sure now if she wanted to impress Antonia because she wanted to prove herself or because, well, she wanted to _impress_ her. Either way, she was determined to achieve a bookshop and flat that were both cleaner than they had been since she had taken them over more than twenty years ago.

Adam came home after school and looked around the shop, almost concerned. His eyes fell on her and he sighed. “Aunty. What are you doing?”

She tried her best not to look as though her were catching her at something naughty. “Er--nothing. Just catching up on a bit of the old tidying, you know.”

“Right.” He looked critically at the dust that had settled itself firmly into her shoulder-length curls, the slight sheen of sweat that had formed on her brow from her heavy lifting. “And I’m sure the fact that your ‘sworn enemy’ is going to be by this evening has nothing to do with it?”

“She’s not my _sworn enemy_ ,” Aziraphale argued, feeling like a petulant child as she did so. That much was true, anyway, especially now. “I merely want to ensure that our guests will be comfortable. Hospitality is a skill well worth practicing in life, you know, Adam.”

He rolled his eyes at her, which she felt she probably deserved. “Whatever you say, aunty. Listen--will you sit down a minute? There’s somethin’ I wanted to...something I need to ask.”

“Is everything alright?” she asked, allowing him to corral her over to one of the sofas in the back room. “Do I need to break out the emergency cocoa?”

He huffed a laugh as he settled down next to her. “No, no need for cocoa. It’s more that--well, I wanted to ask--” He trailed off, seeming to struggled to find the words to say what he wanted to say.

Aziraphale swallowed down some of her concern at seeing such intensity on Adam’s face. He didn’t seem truly upset--she trusted that he’d say something if he was--but he did seem oddly _intent_. 

Finally, he seemed to settle on, “Have you ever...fancied anyone?”

Aziraphale blinked, surprised. He looked up at her, eyes wide and open, waiting for an answer.

“Er,” she started, fidgeting somewhat awkwardly, “Well, yes, I have. It’s...been a while. Since.”

Adam nodded, thoughtfully. “How did you know?” he asked. “That you fancied them, I mean. That you didn’t just...I dunno, want to be their friend, or something?”

Aziraphale wanted to press for more from that question, wanted to ask if he had met someone new at school, or if he was beginning to see someone he already knew in a new light. She resisted; he would tell her when and if he wanted to, and the rest was his own business.

“Well,” she began, “I think wanting to be their friend is a good first step, especially when you’re young. All good romantic relationships are also friendships, after all. It’s perfectly normal.” 

He just kept looking up at her expectantly, so she went on, “Usually you become aware of some differences in the way you feel when you see them or think about them. Er--your heart races. You become faint, or dreamy, or distant. You want to be in their presence just to _be in their presence_ , if that makes any sense. When you’re a little older, maybe you find yourself wanting to kiss them, though that’s not true of everyone. Things that you may not feel about all your other friends.”

“Oh,” Adam said, still thoughtful. He looked at her, simple curiosity in his expression. “Do you feel that way about anybody? Only you haven’t mentioned anyone since I came to live with you.”

Aziraphale thought, rather absurdly, about Antonia, about the way her heart had fluttered when they’d parted from Pepper’s parents’ house. “Erm,” she managed, “N-not at the moment, dear boy. But that’s alright. I’ve quite got my hands full between the shop and everything else.”

If he saw through her rather flimsy excuse, he didn’t show it. He just nodded again, offering her a small smile. “Thanks, aunty. For letting me ask questions like that.”

“Anytime,” she responded, and watched as he took himself up the stairs to his room.

Aziraphale felt rather off-kilter for a while after that conversation. She spent a little bit more time finishing up the cleaning, mulling over her thoughts. She prepared the lasagna with a careful eye to the recipe book she’d pulled up from the shop, layering noodles and sauce and cheese with an exactness she had rarely ever practiced in the kitchen. Once it was in the oven she took a hot shower to soothe the aches she could already feel settling into her shoulders from the day’s labour, then dithered over her hair and her outfit. Afterwards she tidied and retidied the kitchen table, shuffled various papers around, anything to keep her hands busy. 

Antonia and Warlock arrived five minutes early, which nearly made Aziraphale jump out of her skin. She rushed down the stairs to let them in, ushering them out of the cold and into the bookshop, unsurprised to find that Adam followed and disappeared with Warlock almost the moment he’d got his coat off. Aziraphale tried not to gasp as Antonia peeled off her own coat and hat. She wasn’t in the solicitor’s suit Aziraphale was used to seeing on her wiry frame. Rather, she was wearing what looked like a tremendously soft black jumper over _very_ tight black trousers. Her hair, normally pulled back in a severe bun, dangled in fetching crimson curls about her shoulders. The overall effect stunned Aziraphale silent for a few moments.

“I’ve brought a salad, like you asked,” Antonia said, breaking through Aziraphale’s terribly embarrassing stupor. “And a bottle of wine, if you partake...?”

Aziraphale finally registered that she was, indeed, carrying a covered bowl and a bottle. “Oh,” she said, then, “Oh! Yes. Here, let me take those, will you?”

Antonia handed them over with a general air of bemusement, then spent a few moments to take in her surroundings. “Cosy little spot you’ve got here,” she commented, in a tone that, if it were false, did a very good job of hiding it. “The shop’s yours, then?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale confirmed, a bit surprised. “It’s been in the family for over two centuries now.”

That earned her a low whistle. “Quite a feat, somewhere like London.”

“Erm--yes. Quite. We’re a family of book lovers, and we shan’t be parted with them, I suppose. It’ll be Adam’s some day, if he wants it.” 

Antonia hummed, seeming pleased. Aziraphale cleared her throat. She was feeling out of sorts already, an effect she was beginning to suspect would be somewhat persistent in Antonia’s company. She went on, “Well, the flat’s through here, if you’ll follow me...”

She led Antonia to the back of the shop and up the narrow stairway to the flat above, trying not to feel self-conscious of what it must look like from an outside perspective. It was a smallish space. It would have been plenty big for just her, and had been before Adam came along, but even then could not have been called large. The door from below opened out onto the sitting-slash-dining room, the little kitchen tucked neatly away on one side and the narrow hallway to the bedrooms on the other. 

Again, though, Antonia didn’t seem to turn her nose down at it. She followed Aziraphale through to the kitchen and watched her open the wine without really even seeming to take in the flat, though Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure why.

Aziraphale set the wine to the side to breathe and moved over to the stovetop, still feeling unnerved. “I do hope you and Warlock don’t mind lasagna,” she said, slipping on a couple of heat-resistant gloves to transfer the dish to the table.

“I’m sure it’ll be delicious.” Antonia smiled again, and Aziraphale’s heart fluttered distractingly. “You know you didn’t need to feed us and all that. I’d have been happy coming over to just chat.”

Aziraphale kept her focus on finishing getting the table ready and pouring them both a glass of wine. “Yes, well, I could hardly invite you over without an offer of dinner. It would have been terribly rude of me. Besides, I know very well how eleven-year-old boys are. You’d best watch out if there’s no food around.”

Antonia gave a full-on laugh at that. “That’s true, at least. I swear Warlock eats twice his weight in a day.”

This easy path of conversation kept them occupied for a while, trading stories until they were ready to call the boys in for dinner. To Aziraphale’s great surprise, Antonia removed her sunglasses during one particularly animated rendition, revealing soft brown eyes that were more expressive than any Aziraphale had ever seen. She found herself having to avoid them on purpose, lest she be caught in the act of staring. 

Once Adam and Warlock had been prevailed upon to wash their hands and sit down at the table, things settled down into an awkward sort of silence.

“Er--so,” Aziraphale started, after the sound of forks on porcelain became a little too loud for her liking, “Warlock. Do you like to read?”

Warlock nodded. “Yeah! I’m not as good at it as I am at maths, though. My favorite are graphic novels. Especially if they’re about spaceships.”

“Oh, lovely.” Aziraphale said, smiling at his enthusiasm, “Adam here is rather fond of that sort of thing as well. I don’t have all that many graphic novels in the bookshop, but I’ve been meaning to update my collection.”

Antonia looked up at her, surprised. “Do you really? You didn’t strike me as a graphic novel sort of bookseller.”

“Well, I try to keep something in stock for everyone,” Aziraphale said, not sure whether to be insulted by the assumption or delighted that she defied it. “And I do have an expert on hand who keeps me in the know on what eleven-year-olds like nowadays.” She nodded towards Adam, who gave her a very loose salute over a rather large mouthful of pasta.

Antonia chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“And how about you, Antonia?” Aziraphale asked, feigning a certain amount of nonchalance as she poked at the food on her plate delicately. “Are you a reader?”

Antonia paused a moment, a curiously hesitant expression on her face. “Not...not as such, no,” she said, after a few moments. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale tried not to sound disappointed, then wondered why she was disappointed in the first place. 

“It’s ‘cause of her eyes,” Warlock chipped in between bites of lasagne. He was digging in with every bit as much gusto as Adam across from him, though with rather more delicacy. 

“Warlock,” Antonia said, sharply reproving. “What have we said about that?”

He blinked in confusion, then his eyes widened guiltily. “Not to talk about other peoples’ personal problems without permission? I’m sorry, mum.”

Antonia sighed, but she softened. “It’s alright, Warlock. You didn’t mean it. Do try to remember next time, though, pet, it’s important.” Her gaze flickered back over to Aziraphale. She looked mildly embarrassed to have been caught in this moment of motherly attentions, but Aziraphale just grinned back at her. It made her seem so much less like a statue to Aziraphale, less intimidatingly pristine. More _human_. “He’s right, though,” Antonia went on, unaware of Aziraphale’s internal thoughts, “I’ve got issues with light sensitivity, and focusing on small things gives me a headache. Always has. I know the glasses make me look a bit of a prat but, well...” she shrugged.

Aziraphale thought of all the times she had mused disapprovingly on Antonia’s sunglasses, all the times she’d assumed the worst of her for wearing them, and flushed guiltily. From even just the short conversation they’d had thus far, Aziraphale was beginning to suspect that much more of her view of Antonia was based on her own assumptions and insecurities than on reality. If the sunglasses were an accommodation, what else had she seen in the woman’s manner that she had so woefully misinterpreted?

“Well, I’m very glad you’re comfortable enough to take them off here,” she tried, somewhat more stiffly than she had intended. “The last thing I want is for anyone to feel uncomfortable. Do you like audiobooks, by any chance...?”

Dinner went much more smoothly from there. Antonia _did_ like audiobooks, as it turned out, though she didn’t get as much time to listen to them as she might have liked. She also turned out to be a thoroughly engaging conversationalist. They had a lively debate about the best dramatic audio rendition of _Dracula_ that left them both in giggling fits, and veered off into a conversation about the many benefits and pitfalls inherent in adapting any work of literature to another medium. The boys mostly ignored two of them. They seemed to entertain themselves well enough with an entirely silent conversation in meaningful looks shared across the table, the likes of which Aziraphale did not care to interpret as they were most likely at the adults’ expense, so she couldn’t bring herself to feel too awful about excluding them.

After even the two eleven-year-olds, who were growing like weeds and eating like them too, had had their fill of lasagne, Antonia insisted on helping with the washing up before they both drifted over to one of the sofas in the sitting room. They heard a bout of raucous laughter from behind Adam’s door, where the two boys had run off to after dinner, and Aziraphale smiled.

“Do you know,” she said, enjoying the slight warmth the wine infused in her body, “I think Adam and Warlock have started getting along rather famously.”

“Yeah,” Antonia said, taking a sip of her wine and peering off down the hallway. “I think they’re plotting something.”

Aziraphale quirked her eyebrow at her. “Oh? What are they plotting?”

“Not quite sure. Warlock’s just been a bit shifty lately, like he’s hiding something. And he was _so_ excited to come here tonight. More excited than I’d expect when he gets to see Adam at school every day.”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale thought back to the conversation with Adam that afternoon. “Now that you mention it, Adam’s been acting a bit strange lately too. We had a conversation this afternoon that...well, you might be right. Do you think we should intervene?”

“Nah,” Antonia said, more breezily than Aziraphale might have expected. “Let them have their fun. I trust Warlock not to do anything that would hurt anyone, and I suspect Adam’s the same.”

Aziraphale murmured agreement. Adam could be intense at times, but he would rather die than cause anyone to come to harm. “Well, I suppose we should be getting on with the planning, then.”

Antonia agreed, and pulled out a sheaf of notepaper from her bag. 

Aziraphale spent most of the planning session just listening to Antonia speak, as she had rather suspected she would. Antonia seemed to have more than enough good ideas for the both of them and the experience to back it up. Aziraphale piped in with the occasional comment, especially when they were discussing options for desserts to make for the cake walk, but was otherwise content to act as a sounding board for Antonia to bounce ideas off of.

“You seem to be rather well-versed in all this,” she commented later, when all their ideas had been spilled onto the pages of Antonia’s notebook. “Planning childrens’ events, I mean. You’re quite good at it.”

To her mild surprise, Antonia flushed a little at that. She hadn’t been drinking much (she’d driven to the bookshop, and would need to drive home), so Aziraphale didn’t suppose it was the wine speaking. “Er--thanks. I was a nanny for years before I started working as a solicitor, back before I had Warlock. They were a rich family and threw all sorts of parties and events like this. I s’pose I sort of picked it up along the way.”

Aziraphale hummed in understanding. “That’s quite a career change, nanny to solicitor.”

“You’d be surprised, actually.” Antonia’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “When the kids you’re minding are the spawn of politicians every day is a courtroom.”

They both chuckled at that. There were a brief few moments of comfortable silence and Aziraphale found herself meeting Antonia’s eye almost by accident, her breath catching at the honey-brown warmth she found there. Antonia looked back, searching, and said nothing. Aziraphale cleared her throat, and looked away.

“Do you mind if I ask,” she started, tapping a finger idly against the stem of her wine glass just for something else to focus on, “why you stopped nannying?”

She saw Antonia stiffen ever so slightly from beneath her own lowered lashes. “I...met someone. Warlock’s father. Then after Warlock was born I decided to go forward with my degree. It had always been something I wanted to do anyway, seemed like the right time.”

Aziraphale nodded, somewhat sorry she’d asked. It had obviously been a sore topic. Antonia didn’t seem angry, though, or at least not at Aziraphale. She went on, “It was a good job, and I did love the kids even if they were little snot-nosed brats. And it’s given me important life skills à la children’s event planning, I suppose.” She gave Aziraphale a lopsided smile, obviously trying to lighten the mood a bit.

Aziraphale rolled her eyes good-naturedly, allowing herself to be drawn away from more sensitive conversational topics. “Ah yes, the all-important skill for a mother on-the-go in this modern world. Pumpkin-based group activities.”

“That’s why I make the big bucks,” Antonia said, nodding sagely. They both held their perfectly straight faces for a solid few seconds, but inevitably the corners of their mouths started twitching. Aziraphale broke first, a small titter escaping her, and after that all was lost.

Antonia stayed far longer than Aziraphale had anticipated, laughing together on the sofa in the sitting room of her little flat, but she found that she was not in the least upset by that turn of events. Once she had gotten over her own ill-conceived notions of the woman, Antonia was a _delight_ to spend time with. Aziraphale had other friends that she would sometimes spend time with, mostly old classmates from her school days or long-time regulars at the bookshop, but none of them had ever _clicked_ with her quite like Antonia seemed to. Their tastes in art and music and film were often wildly different, but they debated them with passion and understanding rather than rote distaste. It was entertaining. _Refreshing_.

Aziraphale admitted to herself that she was sad to see her go when it eventually caught up to them how late the hour had grown, well beyond Adam and Warlock’s usual bedtimes. Antonia gave her a rather sheepish little smile as she tucked a yawning Warlock into his coat. Aziraphale returned it, ignoring the little flutter of increasingly-familiar butterflies that arose in her stomach at the sight.

Adam, who was also barely hanging onto consciousness by a thread as much as he was trying to pretend otherwise, let himself be herded up the stairs from door again and into some night clothes. She half expected him to nod off during their customary reading session (a comfort she couldn’t deny him, despite the late hour), but he surprised her. When she tucked the bookmark into the pages and moved to get up, his eyes were still open.

“Can I ask you a question, aunty?” 

Aziraphale hesitated. She was starting to get rather anxious to tuck away in her own bed, to process the events of the day in the privacy of her own bedroom. Still, the last thing she wanted to do was discourage Adam from asking questions. “What is it, dearest?”

He looked almost hesitant for a moment, which was so entirely out of character for Adam it made her blink. Eventually he said, “Remember that conversation we had earlier today?”

“Er--yes, I remember. Why?”

He was looking right at her now, his gaze unnerving in that way he sometimes had. “Do you fancy women?”

Aziraphale was not proud of the panicked sputtering that question elicited in her. “Do I--what--why do you ask?” she squeaked. 

“Jus’ somethin’ I’ve been wondering about,” Adam said, shrugging. “Is that not okay to ask?”

Aziraphale sat by his feet on his narrow bed, sighing. “No, it’s perfectly alright, Adam. I was just--surprised, is all.” She sighed, feeling even more tired than she already had been. “I’ve never tried to hide that part of myself from you, but I suppose I’ve never really spoken about it, either. To answer your question: yes. I do. Er--fancy women, that is.”

Adam listened to her rather rambling confession with a slight smile. “Wicked.”

“Is it?” Aziraphale was taken aback. She didn’t have any reason to believe Adam might hold some sort of prejudice, either as a remnant from his parents or from exposure to his classmates, but that was most certainly not the kind of reaction she’d been expecting. She was suddenly reminded of the conversation they’d had earlier that day, the kind of questions he’d been asking. 

“Adam,” she said, taking one of his hands between her own, “You know you can talk to me if you--if there’s someone you fancy, right?”

Adam’s expression was a picture of confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ ,” she went on, as gently as she could, “that if there’s anyone that you’re starting to have feelings for--a boy, or a girl, or both, or--well. Those feelings are perfectly normal for someone your age. And I just want you to know that you would be more than welcome to come to me to talk about them if you wanted.”

“Er--thanks, aunty.” Adam still looked confused. “I will, I s’pose.”

She leaned over and gave his forehead a quick kiss. “That’s all I can ask for. Good night, dear.”

Adam watched her as she stood up from the bed and made her way over to the door, ready to flick out the light.

“Good night, aunty.”

\--------------------

“We have a problem.” Adam looked up from where he had been carefully drawing in the dirt with a long stick, and around him the other Them did the same.

“Hullo Warlock,” he said. “Is this about our mums again?”

Pepper and Wensleydale dutifully scooted aside so that Warlock could plop down among their little circle, looking forlorn. “It is.”

“I thought you said Phase One went perfectly,” Pepper said, turning her critical eyes on Adam.

“I said it went well.” Adam shrugged. He turned to Warlock. “What’s happened?”

Warlock rolled his eyes. “It’s my mum. She’s _freaking out_.”

“Why?” 

“I don’t _know!_ ’ Warlock wailed, every bit as melodramatic as his mother. “She was so happy when we left last night. She let me pick the music in the car and everything! And then I asked her if she was going to ask your aunty out on a date--just casually, you know--and she just. Went really quiet and started acting all weird.”

The Them looked around at each other. “Weird _how_ , exactly?” Pepper asked.

“Weird like...” Warlock thought for a moment. “Weird like she was really _afraid_ of something. Kind of like when I was a kid and had to go to the doctor’s and get a shot, and I would spend the whole car ride crying because I was so scared. Like that.”

“You still are a kid,” Wensleydale apparently felt the need to point out. “We all are, actually.”

“My little sister still cries when she has to get a shot.” Brian took a bite of the chocolate bar he seemed to have manifested from the aether, meditatively. 

_“Anyway_ ,” Warlock said, bringing the attention of the group back to subject at hand, “she’s freaking out and I don’t know why.”

“Maybe she just has anxiety,” Wensleydale said. He pushed his glasses up his nose a bit. “I was screened for anxiety this past summer. Apparently it’s pretty common. Maybe your question just made her anxious?”

They all thought about that for a few moments.

Adam said, “Maybe that’s why my aunty was bein’ so weird last night too. I asked her if she fancied women, ‘cause we didn’t know, you know, and she got a bit strange about it. Started telling me she wanted me to talk about my feelings.”

There were another few moments of serious contemplation between them.

“Adults are so _weird_ ,” Pepper said eventually, shaking her head.

They certainly couldn’t deny that statement.

\--------------------

Antonia gave a critical eye to the veritable _mountain_ of baking supplies now crowding out an entire corner of her sleek kitchen, double-checking them against the list she was holding in one hand. Halloween was tomorrow, a Sunday, which meant she had about thirty-two hours to turn this giant pile of flour, sugar, eggs, fruit, milk, molasses, and sundry into a full dozen plus confectionaries for the cake walk. 

Determining that all was in order, she set her list aside. She dug around in her cabinets for a moment and pulled out bowls, measuring cups, and spatulas, laying them out in a neat line on her pristine granite countertop.

She turned to Warlock, who was currently sat in a stool at the breakfast bar, engrossed in a graphic novel he’d picked up from the library. “Warlock.”

“Hmm?” He looked up from the colourful pages. “What’s up, mum?”

“I just want you to remember that you two are not to go running off to play until you’ve finished your homework,” she said, adding an approximate order of tasks to the bottom of a scrap of paper. “And if you finish yours before Adam finishes his I’d like you to _help_ , understand? We don’t leave our guests unattended.”

Warlock rolled his eyes. “When have I _ever_ left one of my friends alone, mum? And _don’t_ start in with the zoo story, it doesn’t count if I was a toddler.”

“I wasn’t!” said Antonia, who had in fact been about to use that exact story as an example. She sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Warlock, I just--I’m just a bit--” she trailed off.

“Anxious?” Warlock supplied for her, softly. 

Antonia chewed on her lip. “Maybe,” she admitted. She knew there was no hiding her thoughts from Warlock. He was too smart for it, first of all, and she had always placed too much value on knowledge being given freely to change tack now. 

“Is it because of the cake walk, or is it Aziraphale?” 

She peered at him, suspiciously. “When did you get so knowledgeable about this kind of thing?”

He shrugged. “I’ll be twelve soon,” he said, breezily, “Practically an adult. You learn these things as you get older.”

Her loud and decidedly undignified snort was cut short by the sound of the door buzzer going off. “Homework,” she repeated to another eye roll, punctuating the command with a point of her finger, then bustled off to retrieve her guests.

Aziraphale and Adam came in from the chill autumn morning pink-cheeked and cheery, a balm against Antonia’s troubled soul. Aziraphale in particular was a vision. She had come dressed in a baby blue knit jumper and sensible tan trousers, which might have looked plain on anybody else but on her was enough to make Antonia’s pulse spike wildly (or maybe she was further gone than she’d thought...). She’d done her hair up in a sensible bun, little curls framing her face adorably.

“Oh, my,” Aziraphale said, as she came in the door, looking around at the flat’s rather harsh aesthetic.

Antonia smiled, wanly. “I know, it’s a little much. I heard about minimalism a couple years back and went a bit wild with it, I’m afraid.” 

“No, no, it’s lovely!” Aziraphale said, obviously embarrassed to have been caught out, “It’s--er--you have some lovely art on the walls.”

Antonia just laughed. “It’s alright, Aziraphale. My style’s not for everyone.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t for me,” Aziraphale said, almost idly, overseeing the removal of Adam’s shoes and coat before he could run off into the flat with them. “It’ll just take a bit of adjustment, that’s all.”

Antonia swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. “Er--alright, then, good. Great. Right.” She turned suddenly and gestured for Aziraphale to follow her down the slate-grey hall. “This way.”

Aziraphale gasped behind her when they emerged into Antonia’s sleek kitchen, which made her preen a bit. She had done extensive renovations--or, _had them done_ , rather--to get the kitchen up to her standards. Quite a large portion of her solicitor’s wages had been poured into the project. It showed in the sleek black granite and polished chrome, the brand-new appliances. 

“Goodness,” Aziraphale breathed, taking it all in, “Do you know, I’m beginning to understand why you wanted us to come over here to do the baking.” 

Antonia chuckled. “Nothing at all against your kitchen, but there’s a bit more room to move around in over here.”

“Oh, no, you’re absolutely right there.” Aziraphale looked over to Adam and Warlock, who already had their heads bent together at the raised bar. “Well, it looks like we have a couple people who are excited to get to the ‘playing’ portion of the afternoon.”

“Can you blame them?”

Aziraphale beamed at her, her smile wide and her cheeks still flushed from the cold outside, and it felt like someone had just punched Antonia in the stomach. “Not at all, dear girl. Not at all.”

Once Antonia had (metaphorically) picked herself up from the floor, they started by going down the list she’d made of what order to go in. She had decided that they should start with things that went together fast and lasted well, like biscuits and scones, and then move on to the more complicated desserts from there. 

Once that was done, Aziraphale looked rather dubiously down at Antonia’s standing mixer. “You’ll have to teach me to use some of these appliances, I’m afraid. I’ve always taken a bit more of a...hands-on approach to my baking.”

“That’s no problem,” Antonia assured her. “Most of ‘em are just ‘put in stuff, press button,’ anyway.”

Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgement, but from her face wasn’t fully convinced. “Oh!” she said, perking up, “I’d almost forgotten. I wasn’t sure if you’d have an apron in my size, so I brought one of mine...” She bustled back through the hallway to where she’d left her things and came back a moment later with a bundle of fabric in her arms.

A bundle of _frilly, lacy_ fabric. It was tartan, tan and brown shot through with a thin red, with a white lace trim she was pretty sure had been all the rage in the 1950’s. Antonia stared it for a moment. “Oh, good,” she managed, beginning to realize now just how out of her depth she was here. “I mean, yes, good plan. Messy business, this. Baking an’ whatnot.”

“Yes!” Aziraphale shook out the ridiculous thing and wrapped it around herself. It was old-fashion in style, too, the kind that crossed over the shoulder blades for coverage. “There. _Now_ I’m ready to bake!” She beamed again. 

“Wahoo,” Antonia managed, a little weakly.

They followed the plan Antonia had made. Antonia set her phone to play some music in the background as they worked, quiet enough that they could chat without having to shout. Antonia showed Aziraphale how to blend cold butter with flour and sugar using the food processor, and they threw together simple scones as well as pie crusts and shortbread dough for chilling in very short order. They made American-style chocolate chip pumpkin biscuits and pumpkin bread as well as more traditional English fare like ginger biscuits. All the while, Antonia was very conscious of having Aziraphale in her kitchen. The space was more than generous enough for two, but she was still so very _aware_ of Aziraphale’s proximity, her warmth, the little dance she did when they needed to pass by each other to reach something.

A little after noon they reached a point where everything still in progress needed to rest or cool down before icing, so they broke for lunch. The idea of using the kitchen more than was absolutely necessary was unbearable so they ordered take-out from Antonia’s favorite Chinese place down the street, which made both of the boys punch the air in excitement. 

Adam and Warlock both tucked in with gusto the moment the food was in front of them, making Aziraphale and Antonia chuckle again. 

“You’d think they’d been the ones slaving in front of a hot stove all morning,” Antonia said, teasingly. 

Warlock stuck her tongue at her, which earned him a playful pinch to the arm. He gasped dramatically. “Do you see this?” he asked Aziraphale, eyes wide and full of a hilariously false hurt, “Do you see what I’m subjected to?”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale deadpanned. “You’re quite mistreated here. Practically wasting away, you are.”

“Too right,” Warlock said, vehemently, through another bite of orange chicken. 

They made it through their meal in quite high spirits. Antonia did little more than pick at her food, not feeling particularly hungry with the knots of tension that were still twisting in her stomach, but still managed to enjoy their conversation. Adam and Warlock seemed to be getting to be very close friends, which made her happy. Warlock had sometimes had trouble making friends. Adam seemed smart enough to keep up with him and kind enough to be a good influence, a combination that was depressingly rare, especially among eleven-year-olds. 

Aziraphale continued to be as delightful a conversationalist as she had proved herself to be that evening at the bookshop. She didn’t know much about fine art but seemed happy to listen to Antonia talk about things like composition and the histories of the artists themselves, asking pertinent questions and smiling at Antonia’s enthusiasm. The unfiltered attention made Antonia feel a little prickly and overwarm, a little too aware of her body and the tight feeling in her chest, but she swallowed down the sensation. She wasn’t going to let her anxious infatuation ruin a perfectly good afternoon. 

When they had finished their meals and done the small amount of washing up the takeout required, Aziraphale followed Antonia back into the kitchen to do the rest of the baking. 

“What’s left now?” she asked, peering over Antonia’s shoulder as she looked at the list in her hands. Antonia stiffened. Aziraphale was pressed so close to her side she could feel the warmth soaking through her clothes from shoulder to hips, could sense the phantom tingle of the frill of Aziraphale’s apron brushing against her.

Antonia’s voice came out much more shaken than she had intended. “W-we’ve got some of the more complicated stuff now. Macarons and cakes and pastry and the like.”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale hummed, thoughtfully, probably unaware of how thoroughly she was pinning Antonia to the spot. “I’ll definitely need your direction for some of those. I’ve never attempted something more complicated than a carrot cake, I’m afraid.” 

Antonia hoped the noise she made was encouraging rather than whining. “N-no problem, Aziraphale, just follow my lead.” Finally she couldn’t quite take it anymore. She turned slightly, ostensibly to face Aziraphale better but also to get out of the way of her intoxicating warmth before she did something unadvisable like lean back into it. 

Aziraphale was right; she needed a lot of instruction for the more complicated desserts. Antonia was more than happy to give it. She talked Aziraphale through the delicate process of making meringue and pie filling and rough puff, usually starting with an example and letting her go at it after. She was a quick study. Antonia rarely had to show her something more than once or even describe the process before Aziraphale was on it, working at layered dough like a pro, a spot of almond flour dotted adorably on her cheek...

“Can I ask you a question?” Antonia asked, the words slipping out from her mouth without any input from her brain whatsoever. 

Aziraphale looked up at her, surprised. “Of course, my dear. What did you want to know?”

_Can I kiss you_ was Antonia’s first thought, but that was so _wildly_ inappropriate for the situation even she couldn’t quite manage to say it aloud. Instead, she babbled. “That’s--I mean, I was going to--how does-- _bugger_.” 

That caused Aziraphale to widen her eyes in shock, then immediately throw her head back in a guffaw that somehow still managed not to muck up her prissy aesthetic. 

“Is that really the question you wanted to ask, dear?” she asked, still chuckling. She turned back to the dough before her on the counter. “Because I must admit, I’m not quite sure what kind of answer to give.”

Antonia sighed, kicking herself. “No, sorry, that was--not sure what that was, honestly. I was just wondering if you, erm. If you were seeing anyone?”

There was a moment where neither of them moved, where neither of them breathed. Aziraphale’s hands stopped their motions over the pastry, halted as if frozen in time, and she made no other movement but to take a sharp inhale.

“Sorry!” Antonia said, immediately, panicking, “So sorry, I didn’t mean--that was incredibly inappropriate of me, I didn’t--”

“It’s alright.” Aziraphale seemed to gain control over herself once again. She turned to face Antonia, eyes darting to her face and then away again as though afraid of what she might find there. “Quite alright. Just--er--unexpected, I think.”

Antonia nodded. She honestly wasn’t sure if she was still breathing.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Aziraphale said, blue eyes once again meeting Antonia’s honey-brown ones for only a moment before flickering away again. “If that’s...if that answers your question.”

Antonia _definitely_ wasn’t breathing. Oxygen deprivation was the only _possible_ reason Antonia could be brave enough to do what she did next, which was to ask, “Do you want to? See someone, I mean?”

To her complete and utter consternation, Aziraphale’s face took on a decidedly _teasing_ expression at that. “Why,” she practically purred, “did you have someone in mind?”

Antonia was saved from whatever assuredly incoherent thing she had been about to say to _that_ little revelation by Adam and Warlock bursting into the dining room, full of the adrenaline of whatever or other quest they were on now. 

“Aunty!” Adam practically shouted, running in and practically bouncing where he stood. “Aunty, tell them about the costume idea I had last night.” Warlock was slightly more subdued, but he was still grinning excitedly, looking back and forth between the two adults.

“Costume idea?” Aziraphale didn’t seem nearly as out of sorts as Antonia felt, which didn’t seem any kind of fair. “Oh! Yes. I had almost forgotten.” She turned to Antonia, almost apologetic. “When we were out doing the shopping last night, Adam spotted some...accessories that he insisted we pick up. We brought them with us, if you’re interested.”

Adam turned to Antonia as well, eyes pleading. “You’ve got to wear them, though! It would be perfect!” 

“Adam,” Aziraphale said, lightly warning, “Remember, only if she doesn’t already have a costume to wear. You can’t just override people’s wishes.”

Antonia, who had not given a single thought to the fact that a Halloween event might require costumes before _that exact moment_ , and whose only existing costumes were _beyond_ inappropriate for any function in which children were involved, jumped on the chance. 

“I’d love to wear it, whatever it is,” she said, trying not to sound too eager. “Er--what is it, exactly?”

Adam beamed at her. “It’s a matching one with my aunty! We got a halo and a little golden star wand, and a demon’s horns an’ a tail!” 

“I’m going to be a vampire,” Warlock said from behind her, “and Adam’s going to be a werewolf, so it would fit right in! We can all be monsters.”

Aziraphale chuckled softly. “I’m not sure an angel counts as a ‘monster,’ dear boy. Or a demon, for that matter, although I suppose it depends on your--well. Suffice it to say I think it would be quite...cute. If you’re willing.” She batted her eyes and smiled in Antonia’s direction, and Antonia knew she was well and truly _fucked_.

“Sure thing, _angel_ ,” she managed. 

\--------------------

“Well, that was easier than I expected.” Adam hopped slightly as he went back into Warlock’s room, seemingly still overflowing with the joy of their victory. “Hardly took any convincing at all.”

“It was easy,” Warlock admitted. “Did mum seem distracted to you at all?”

Adam shrugged, slightly. “She was busy with all the cakes an’ whatnot. Didn’t seem that out of the ordinary to me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Warlock shook his head, clearing it. “Now, tomorrow’s when we make our final move. Are we all clear on the rendezvous point?”

Adam nodded. “All the Them know where they’re s’posed to be. Dunno if the adults’ll cooperate, but that’s adults for you.”

“Too true,” Warlock sighed. “Too true.”

\--------------------

“‘S weird bein’ here at night,” Adam said, peering at the hulking brick of the school building as they crossed the street towards it.

Aziraphale looked over at him. “It’s not even half two, my dear.”

“I know.” Adam seemed to struggle with his words for a moment. “It’s all empty and stuff, though. It’s weird.”

“Well, it _is_ a Sunday. I imagine in an hour or two when people start arriving properly things will start to pick up. Either take out your fangs or stop picking at them darling, you’re going to break off a tip.”

Adam rolled his eyes, but didn’t try to pull away from where Aziraphale was holding his hand. She knew the days where he would permit such coddling were coming to a swift and untimely end; visions of video games and unfortunate amounts of scented body sprays were already beginning to haunt her. She intended to enjoy his childhood while he’d let her.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Adam asked as they bypassed the school’s front entrance and instead began making their way around one of the sides. 

“Antonia told me she would be parked in the back,” Aziraphale explained. “I do hope I’ve got the times correct.”

Adam shook his head. “This is why you need a mobile, aunty.”

“I’ll have you know that I do perfectly well without a--” Her words died in her throat as they rounded the corner and the loading area came into full view. 

Antonia was indeed there, standing beside a surprisingly old-fashioned car that had been backed right up to the loading dock. She appeared to be giving instructions to a small crew of volunteers on where to take the many sweet treats they had spent the better part of yesterday producing. She was faced away from them, which was probably for the best, because Aziraphale stopped dead in her tracks when she saw her.

The little devil’s horns that Aziraphale had brought over yesterday were perched on her head, curving up from the riotous crimson curls that danced all the way down past Antonia’s shoulders. She’d gone with a rather unique interpretation of a demon in the clothing department, opting for a black t-shirt and trousers so tight they might have been spray-painted onto her skinny frame. The little devil’s tail fell down between her legs from where it was pinned to the back of her trousers, almost long enough to skim the tops of black stiletto heels that must have added another six inches to her already impressive height.

“Aunty, are you okay?” Adam asked from beside her. 

“What?” Aziraphale managed, blinking a few times until her brain caught up to her again. “What? Yes! Yes, I’m quite alright, dear. Let’s--let’s go say hello, shall we?” She swallowed and started walking again, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. 

Warlock spotted them approaching first, looking rather adorable (though she would never say that) in his furry werewolf costume. He waved excitedly at them and tugged at his mother’s arm until she turned around. 

Aziraphale watched Antonia’s jaw drop open slightly as she spotted her, imagining that Antonia’s eyes were widening beneath those fashionable sunglasses. Aziraphale’s costume wasn’t nearly so... _demonstrative_ as Antonia’s, but she had put in some effort to do herself up a bit for the occasion. She had picked out a well-fitting cream-coloured dress that sparkled a bit when it caught the light, and had carefully fixed the little plastic halo so it perched just so over her own platinum curls. She was rather gratified to see that Antonia seemed just as frozen in place as she had been a few moments ago.

“Hello, dear,” she said when she got close enough, taking pity on Antonia and letting her adjust for a few moments. “You look absolutely... _sinful_ in that costume.”

“Nnnng,” Antonia started, then seemed to shake herself. “I mean--er--you look good too, angel. Aziraphale. Your costume is--it’s good.”

Aziraphale couldn’t resist a small smile at Antonia’s bluster. “Thank you, my dear. And you can call me angel, it’s alright.”

“Okay,” Antonia said, still looking a bit shell-shocked.

“Mum!” Warlock and Adam had moved a short distance away during their little exchange, apparently showing each other their ‘monster moves’ if the growling and hissing and ‘I vant to suck your bloods’ had been any indication. “Mum, Warlock’s got _real_ fangs!”

Aziraphale chuckled a little at the indignation in his voice. “They’re not _real_ real,” she explained to them both, “but they do glue in, yes. I figured they’d be better for a longer period than the plastic kind.”

Warlock pouted around his own plastic fangs, bemoaning the inherent unfairness of the universe. This seemed to break Antonia out of her shell a little bit, and she spared Aziraphale a wicked grin. “It’s a tough old world when a werewolf can’t even get a good set of fangs, huh, angel?”

“Oh, terribly unfair.” Azriraphale agreed, solemnly, “A shattering critique of inequality in the natural-supernatural political hierarchy, I’d say.” 

Warlock let out a put-upon groan that made both the adults laugh, then grabbed at Adam’s hand. “Let’s go inside,” he said, haughtily. “The rest of the Them are already here too, ‘cept Brian.” He grabbed at Adam’s hand and started off.

“Stay by the hall, please,” Aziraphale called after their retreating backs. Adam threw up an arm in vague acknowledgement, and the two of them disappeared into the building.

“They’ll be alright,” Antonia said, still chuckling slightly as she turned back to her car. “Here, can you take the carrot cake?”

Between the two of them and some of the other volunteers that were moving about, they managed to get the old-fashioned car emptied of all its sweet treats (which had been tucked into every available nook, cranny, and surface not required for actually driving). Antonia moved to an actual parking spot a little ways away and then offered Aziraphale her elbow, eyebrow quirked in both offer and challenge, looking every bit the devilish temptation she was dressed as. “Shall we go see what everyone else has set up, then, angel?”

“We still have some setting up to do of our own,” Aziraphale felt the need to point out, but placed a delicate arm at Antonia’s elbow anyway. “The cake walk and all the rest of isn’t going to decorate itself, you know.”

“It might do.” Antonia seemed just as comfortable and confident in her ridiculous heels as Aziraphale was in her more modest ones, which seemed vaguely unfair somehow. “You never know. It is Halloween, you know. Very spooky.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but roll her eyes, but she was smiling too. She let herself be led through the service entryway and past the small chaos that was the volunteer coordination effort. “I wasn’t under the impression that most ‘spooky’ creatures went in for decorating at childrens’ Halloween events.”

“This one does.” Antonia grinned even wider and pointed at her devil’s horns with her free hand.

“Yes, yes, you’re _very_ spooky dear,” Aziraphale said drily, patting Aziraphale’s hand patronizingly just to make her sputter with indignation. “I’m positively quaking in my boots.”

Wensleydale’s mum and the rest of the team had put together a rather spectacular showing, Aziraphale thought. Most of the actual events were taking place in the large hall towards the far side of the school, the only space big enough to hold all the guests and the various displays and activities that needed room to spread out in. Things seemed to have been separated roughly by age group. One corner of the large hall was a cheerily decorated section labeled “The Pumpkin Patch” and which had various ball pits, soft objects, and other things Aziraphale supposed very young children might like. Another corner was dedicated to things of a genuinely spookier nature; a hallway leading away from the section was draped in white plastic that had been artfully torn and smeared with red paint, and was appropriately labeled “Haunted Hallway.” There was also a smallish stage set up, on top of which Wensleydale’s mum was speaking to a group of intimidated-looking young volunteers. 

The last section was all theirs. A few folding tables and a large pile of boxes containing various decorations sat rather sadly against one wall, waiting for them.

“Well, that’s... a little underwhelming,” Antonia said, putting her hands on her hips as she eyed the boxes critically. 

“It’ll just take a bit of work, I think.” Aziraphale moved over to the boxes, shifting them around a bit as she ran through a mental inventory list. “I believe everything we requested is here.”

Antonia hummed, acknowledging. “Do you want to call over some volunteers to help set up? I’m _good_ at bossing volunteers around.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help the little giggle she let out at that. “I’m sure you are, dear,” she breezed, “but we have time enough, I think. If it gets too close to five we’ll call in the troops.”

“If you say so, angel,” Antonia said, shrugging. “Now. What do we want to go where?”

They laid out the various events they’d come up with in the most logical manner they could. Some things, like the ring toss and the costume relay, required a fair bit of space, while the feel boxes only required a table. At one point Warlock and Adam and the rest of the Them came through the hall, and Aziraphale tasked them with hiding the little numbered plastic pumpkins for the pumpkin hunt all over the school. They seemed to take great delight in this task, or maybe they wanted to avoid being given another should they come back that way, because she didn’t see hide nor hair of them again during set-up.

Aziraphale enjoyed the opportunity to spend a little extra time with Antonia. After being interrupted the day before when Antonia had asked her if she was seeing anyone, Aziraphale had been nervous that their interactions would be strained, or tense somehow. They weren’t. Or, perhaps more accurately, they weren’t any _more_ tense than had been before Antonia had made those first tenuous advances. The two of them still laughed and chatted and sparred with each other as easily as they had, for which Aziraphale was beyond glad. She would have hated to lose a blossoming friendship because of the possibility of romance on top of it.

They did end up utilizing the help of some of the volunteers to bring the desserts from where they had been stored in the dining hall to the event area, all of which were arranged over the tables they’d set up under Antonia’s careful and discerning eye. They looked truly spectacular, Aziraphale could admit, once put all together like some grand cake exposition. The volunteers were assigned to their various stations and briefed on their duties, after which there was nought to do but wait for the families to begin pouring forth.

Antonia disappeared off somewhere as Aziraphale sat watching the tables, returning a few minutes later with two bottles of water and two cups of tea. 

“How on _Earth_ did you find hot tea at something like this?” Aziraphale exclaimed, taking the gently steaming styrofoam cup from her with a wide smile. 

“A demon never reveals her secrets.” Antonia wiggled her eyebrows above her sunglasses, which did little but make her horns wiggle in a rather hilarious manner.

Aziraphale huffed a laugh at her. “That’s magicians, dear.” 

“Is it?” Antonia inspected her painted black nails, which she also appeared to have sharpened to a gentle point. “Well, maybe it’s demons as well.”

“You just want to keep all the secret tea stashes away from me.”

Antonia snorted. “Alright, yeah, you caught me. I’ve actually built this entire event as a ruse to keep you away from my tea hordes like some kind of tea dragon.”

“I was thinking more one of those terrifying mascots they use to sell sugar cereal to children.”

Antonia groaned. “That’s even worse! Alright, angel, if you _must_ know, I swiped a key for the staffroom off one of the janitors.”

“You never did!” Aziraphale looked at her, askance. 

“Well,” Antonia mumbled, bringing her tea up to her lips to take a rather sheepish sip, “ _swiped from_ might be the wrong way of putting it. “ _Bullied into handing it over_ might be more on the money.”

Aziraphale narrowed her eyes at her. “You asked that janitor very politely to be let in, didn’t you? I bet you said _please_ and everything.”

“I didn’t!” Antonia cried, feigning horror. “What kind of self-respecting demon would I be if I said _please_ , angel, _really_?” 

“A rather kind one, I expect,” Aziraphale said, smugly. She looked around. “Do you think anyone would notice if a couple of the iced pumpkin biscuits were missing from the tray?”

Antonia laughed at that, another one of her very fetching laughs that shook her whole body with her mirth. “Do you know, angel,” she managed, after having laughed again at Aziraphale’s pouting face, “I reckon not a single soul would know if you took an iced biscuit. I also reckon you might not be that good of an angel, really.”

“Well then,” Aziraphale said primly as she snuck one of the fetching biscuits they’d made together the previous day off its wide platter. “A bad angel and a good demon. Isn’t that just a funny thing.”

“It’s certainly something,” Antonia admitted, her amused smile slipping into something a little bit more private, just for Aziraphale. She grabbed her tea off the table, and nodded at Aziraphale until she picked up her own. “To our own side, then.”

Aziraphale smiled back, just as soppy. “Our own side,” she agreed, and touched the rim of her cup together with Antonia’s, gently.

The families started to pour forth before too long, harried-looking parents and their variously aged children making their way into the hall and disbursing throughout according to their appropriate ages. Antonia and Aziraphale spent the better part of the first half hour or so warding away wayward people who had mistaken the cakewalk display tables for the _actual_ snacks table, a job which both of them enjoyed rather more than they probably should. Once the clock struck five, though, it was time for the cake walk proper to begin. 

They ran the game once every fifteen minutes, trading off who was doing the actual event and who was watching the tables. Each time they would select a different dessert from the table that would be the prize for that round. They would gather all the hopeful children around them onto a large circle of individual squares they had marked out on the floor with tape, play music for a random amount of time, and then draw a number out of a large bowl. Whichever child happened to be standing on that numbered square won the dessert (or an appropriately allergen-free alternative). It was simple, and easy, but between disputes over who got to play in which rounds and the constant turnover of the game itself, most of the next two and a half hours were lost in the whirlwind.

By half past seven, many of the families with younger children had made their way out of the hall, but those that remained were now attempting to wrangle sugar-and-adrenaline-filled toddlers as they shrieked their way across the floor all over. The Haunted Hallway had a line of waiting children bouncing and chatting excitedly outside of it. A largeish crowd had gathered around the stage, surrounding whatever event had been started in that quarter, but any hint of what was going on was drowned out by the general din of the room. 

Antonia plopped down in the chair beside her, looking drained. “I don’t know why I signed up for this,” she groused, rolling her shoulders to release some of the tension there. “Most of the prosecutors I have to deal with aren’t half so ruthless as some of these kids.” 

“I know what you mean.” Aziraphale sighed as a child of perhaps twelve or thirteen came came marching back towards them, the determined look on her face a rather horrible counterpoint to the neon fairy wings at her back. “I think young Melissa’s coming back to demand to play again.”

Antonia followed her gaze and groaned. “She’s played five times already! She’s won a cake, what more does she want?”

“As much as she can get, I expect.” Both of them sighed in temporary relief as Melissa was waylaid by some other children. 

“I was thinking I might ask one of the other volunteers to step in for the last few rounds,” Antonia said. “There’s a bunch of ‘em around now the little kids’ section has wound down. How much convincing do you think it would take to get Adam and Warlock to scarper off early so we could go get a proper supper?”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “Rather a lot, I suspect.” She scanned the crowd. “I haven’t seen them in a little while, actually. I suppose that means they’re having fun.”

“Or they’re up to something.” 

Aziraphale had to concede the point there. “Or that. Adam usually is, if I’m honest.” 

There were a few moments of comfortable silence as they enjoyed the ability to sit and relax, fleeting as that relaxation might be. Before long, though, Antonia turned to her, somewhat hesitantly.

“Listen, angel,” she said, “I know I said that dinner thing as a bit of a joke, but I’ve been thinking. I never did get to...finish what I started asking you yesterday.”

Aziraphale felt a little flutter of nervousness and hope bloom in her chest. “Yes, dear?”

Antonia shifted in her seat. “I was just wondering. After all this, if you...do you...I mean--” she trailed off, her throat working over the words that refused to come out.

“If you’re asking me whether I’d like to go to dinner with you,” Aziraphale said, taking some pity on her, “I think I might...I think I’d like that very much.” She rested a hand over Antonia’s long fingers where they lay on the table between them.

Antonia’s answering smile could have powered a small city. Aziraphale felt somewhat weak with the force of it, felt the little bloom in her chest curl towards its source like a sunflower to the sun, reaching and aching and warm.

Before either of them could gather wits enough to say anything, they were startled apart again by the sudden appearance of Pepper at Aziraphale’s elbow. She looked scared, almost frenzied, and tugged at Aziraphale’s arm with intent. 

“Miss Fell! Miss Crowley! It’s Adam and Warlock, they--” she cut herself off, eyes wide. “They need you.”

Aziraphale felt as though a bucket of cold water had been emptied over her head. She was on her feet almost before she could register any intention to stand up. “What’s happened?”

Beside her, Antonia also stood. 

Pepper shook her head, seemingly almost mute. “Just--you just gotta follow me, okay?” She turned and took off at a near-run, forcing Aziraphale and Antonia to lurch after her immediately, protecting the cakes suddenly the farthest thing from their minds. 

They followed Pepper’s form as she wove between and around people where they milled about the large hall, trying to keep pace with her despite their greater relative masses. She took a rapid left turn right into a crowd of people and Aziraphale followed, blindly, working entirely on instinct. The sound of Antonia’s heels echoed from behind her. 

Aziraphale came to a sudden, skittering stop as she pushed her way through the mass of people and nearly ran headfirst into Pepper, who was standing right next to both Adam and Warlock, as well as the rest of the Them. Every single last one of them had a big, satisfied smirk on their face.

“What--?” Aziraphale heard from behind her, but Antonia was interrupted.

“ _There_ they are!” came the voice of Wensleydale’s mother, carrying well despite the crowd. “Thank you, Pepper.” She smiled at them all, pleased.

Feeling somewhat dumbstruck, Aziraphale looked around. The group of people she had barrelled right into had in fact been gathered around the small patch of floor set aside as a stage earlier that evening, and every last one of them was looking over at the two of them. Wensleydale’s mum was standing within the ‘stage’ along with a table of glitter-covered golden pumpkins, one of which she was holding up expectantly. She looked between Aziraphale and Antonia. “Well, you two, come on over!”

Aziraphale blinked at her. She turned to Antonia, who seemed just as lost as she did, then back. “Er--over where?”

“To accept your prize, of course.” Wensleydale’s mum brandished the pumpkin again. “You two won! Congratulations, your couples’ costume is just _so_ darling!” 

Her words took a moment to sink in. “C-couples’ costume?” Aziraphale squeaked, feeling a blush climb up her cheeks right away. “But we didn’t--”

“Go on, aunty,” Adam said from behind her, pushing lightly at her back. 

“But I didn’t even know there _was_ a costume contest!” Aziraphale protested. It fell on deaf ears, however, with Adam merely smiling as she waved her forward towards the centre of the stage.

From behind her, Antonia huffed a sudden laugh. “I suspect, angel,” she said, low enough that only Aziraphale could hear, “that we’ve figured out what Adam and Warlock have been scheming the last few days.”

“Do you think so?” Aziraphale looked over to where the Them were standing, each of them beaming with pride, their smiles laced with mischief. Even Wensleydale’s, which was something of a feat. “Ah. Yes, I think you might be right.”

Her dragging pace finally brought her over to where Wensleydale’s mum was standing, grinning at the both of them so widely Aziraphale suspected she may have been in on it from the start. “Congratulations again, you two,” she said, plopping the monstrously glittery gourd into Aziraphale’s reluctant hands. “Do you know, I had no idea you were even a couple before this!”

“Neither did I,” Antonia muttered behind her, too quietly to be overheard, and Aziraphale giggled. 

To Wensleydale’s mum, she said, “Well, this is all...quite a surprise to us too, I assure you.” 

From the front of the little stage, a man with a rather official-looking camera waved to get their attention. “Could you just smile for me, please? We’re getting pictures of all the winning costumes.”

Aziraphale pinked a little bit, but looked over at Antonia with a little smile. “What do you think, _dear_?” 

Antonia was very obviously trying not to laugh. “Oh, if you insist, _angel_.” 

Aziraphale grinned and schooled her features into something approximating angelic calm, her hands folded neatly at her midsection and her shoulders pulled back. Antonia, playing the demon, draped herself over Aziraphale’s shoulders rather dramatically. Her face was merely inches from Aziraphale’s, her warm breath on Aziraphale’s neck, as though she were whispering all manner of temptation into her ear. Aziraphale shuddered despite herself.

The cameraman snapped a few pictures from a couple different angles, then nodded. “Alright, looks good. Could I get just one more, with the two of you kissing?”

Both Aziraphale and Antonia tensed where they stood. Aziraphale said, “Er--is that really necessary?”

“Not if you’re not comfortable with it.” The cameraman shrugged. “We just thought it would be cute for the winning couple, you know.”

“It’s alright, angel.” Antonia whispered to her after a moment. “It’s not--I don’t mind if you don’t.”

Aziraphale turned so she could actually see Antonia’s face. It helped, even with her eyes still hidden behind those glasses; her expression was open, vulnerable, and it made all the doubts in Aziraphale’s mind leave her all at once. She nodded, minutely.

Antonia flashed her a small smile. She brought one hand up to caress Aziraphale’s cheek on the side not facing the camera, brushing her thumb over the soft skin there almost reverently. Slowly, ever so slowly, they leaned into each other until their lips just barely brushed. Aziraphale took in a sharp breath. She grabbed at Antonia’s shirt and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, barely even noticing the chorus of “awws” that went up around them and the clicking of the camera shutter capturing the moment. All she felt was Antonia, warm and solid and _right_.

By the time she pulled back, looking up into Antonia’s somewhat watery smile, she had the feeling that she wouldn’t be letting go for a good long while.

\--------------------

The air bed squeaked and groaned as Adam squirmed around on it, restless. “How much longer will they keep us grounded, d’you think?”

In the dark, Warlock sighed, dramatically. “ _Ages._ ”

“Yeah.” More shifting. “So, what, another week, d’you think?”

Warlock considered this. “Yeah, probably.”

“I still don’t understand why they grounded us in the first place,” Adam groused, not for the first time. “I mean, we helped ‘em out, didn’t we? Got ‘em together. They should be thanking us.”

“I’ll never understand adults.” Warlock sighed again. “What’s wrong with ‘interfering with other people’s lives’ if it makes them happy?”

Adam hummed his agreement. There were a few moments of contemplative silence as they both mulled over their thoughts on the incomprehensibility of adult motivations.

“D’you know what I reckon?”

Warlock looked over to Adam’s patch of floor instinctively, even though he couldn’t see him in the dark. “No. What?”

Warlock didn’t need light to hear the smile in Adam’s voice. “I reckon they’re both so distracted right now that neither of ‘em would notice if a couple’a of those little apple tart things went missing.”

“You’re only gonna get us in more trouble,” Warlock said, but he was already slipping out from under his covers. 

After all, he thought as they tip-toed past the bedroom with his and Adam’s mums inside, they deserved a little treat for a job well done. 


End file.
